Chapter 2: Dancing With A Stranger

Playlist Song#2: Pin Drop by Sia

DAPHNE’S POV

My mom was young when she had me. Barely had her frontal lobe developed, and when my Dad cheated on her while she was suffering from postpartum depression, she became a shell of herself. She loved me as best as she could, but when cancer hit, she couldn’t fight it.

Dad remarried a year later, way too quickly, so I grew up with my maternal grandmother, Rhosyn.

Everything I’ve fought for, has been to make her happy, but seeing her child pass without knowing what true love felt like, that became her biggest wish for me.

Outside in the cold, with the snow biting at my skin and freezing the tears as they drop, I feel weak deep in my soul.

I’m walking aimlessly with my luggages, because I reckon that if I had left it in front of Orison’s apartment, I’d come back to it destroyed, just as I did to his things.

I’m able to find a temporary spot to leave them, for a ridiculous f*e of sixty American dollars. I’m too broken to argue, so I pay and leave.

And Orison.

How did we get here?

I think in my quest to fulfil Rhosyn’s wishes, I mistook desperation for love. Orison and I didn’t know each other for long, but I thought because he knew he wanted to marry me immediately, he was right for me. He said I was loyal and pure, exactly what he was looking for, and I dived in headfirst.

The sex between us wasn’t as mindblowing as I heard other women gush about, and I was fine with that, but apparently, Orison wasn’t.

My mind is so far away that I don’t realize when it gets dark, or when I end up inside a pub.

The moment I step in, I realize that I’ve been out in the snow for too long. It’s not so heavy yet, but my fingers already feel numb. At least it’s warm in here.

Soft Christmas music plays through overhead speakers, and there aren’t many people here. I head straight for the service counter. There’s only one other person on the last stool here, but my eyes are too blurry to notice past that.

“Your strongest cocktail, please,” I say, ignoring the bartender’s greetings.

He does as I ask, and the second my lips connect with the salty glass, I down the entire thing in three big gulps. It burns.

“Arrggghh!” I wince, squeezing my lips with how shitty it tastes, but I immediately feel warm inside.

“You should take that slowly if you want to be able to walk out of here anytime soon or remember anything after,” the bartender tells me, and I shake my head.

“That’s exactly what I don’t want,” I say, motioning for a refill.

After five glasses of alcohol, the music begins to call to me.

Like I said, I’m a holiday cynic, and I usually roll my eyes at songs like the ones currently playing at this pub, but with how loose I feel, I don’t know when I push myself off the stool and move to the clearing at the center of the room.

I begin to dance, and in my head? Fuck Orison, fuck Scarlet, and fuck the wedding.

I have no freaking idea as to how I’m going to break the news to Rhosyn, but right now, I’m letting the music move through me and reflect in my dance steps.

Soon, I begin to feel lonely on the dance floor.

“I want a partner,” I muse to myself, looking around the room for a suitable pick.

The bartender smiles at me, probably used to seeing my type all day, and I tear my eyes away from him. He’s handsome, but his blonde hair instantly disqualifies him. He reminds me of Orison.

My eyes roam through the room, and land back at the service counter. I’ve been here for almost an hour, and the person…no, the man…the man I saw earlier at the edge of the service counter is still there.

He has been quiet all through, likely why I haven’t noticed him, and his head is still bent down, only regarding his drink and the bartender.

But even with his back to me, I know it’s him I want.

His black not-too-tight shirt clings to broad shoulders, spread wide like an eagle in the sky, and he almost blends with the darkness. His hair carries a similarly dark shade, and I move on instinct.

His cologne is hard to miss when I reach him, and he’s even more imposing. I know he’s a tall man just from looking. With my pointer finger, I politely tap him on his shoulder.

‘It’s simple, Daphne. Ask him to dance with you.’ That's what I think to myself, but when the man slowly tilts his head to me, my throat dries up, and my tongue disappears. It literally does, because I can no longer feel the organ in my mouth.

I drank way too many cocktails. Crap.

“Can I help you?” He asks, and I whimper. Out. Loud.

Why, you may ask? It’s because his voice does something to my insides. It’s like honey, yet thick and gravelly, unlike what I’ve heard since…ever.

And he looks familiar, like I’ve seen his face somewhere before, but I can’t quite place it.

I don’t know what luck is on my side, but I don’t catch any hint of him running impatient at my sudden lack of functioning brain cells.

I finally snap out of whatever haze he’s put me under…barely.

“C-can you dance?” I ask, and what I first get is silence, then a trace of amusement, because his lips tilt in a crooked smile, and I have to rub my thighs together to dull the ache I suddenly feel.

He stands up without a response, and the man must be at least six five, towering over my five nine. I’d usually feel too tall when I was out with Orison, but not with this hunk of a man.

As he outstretches his hand to take mine, the intricate tattoos covering his thick forearms catch the light.

It’s just me and him on the dance floor, and I’m fighting to clear my foggy brain. We begin to dance, and when I almost trip, he catches me.

“Do you ask strangers to dance with you in an empty bar all the time?” He asks, and I can tell he’s from here through and through.

I bite my lips before shaking my head.

“No, not really. Do you agree to dance with every stranger that asks? I bet you get that all the time, the way a Venus flytrap would catch flies…just like it tried to do to me once actually,” I blurt, and I instantly regret it. “I’m sorry. I’m…I’m rambling,” I tell him, silently begging him to slap me over the mouth so I can be quiet.

Instead, he chuckles, and the sound is rich, gliding over my skin, that even the hairs along my arm stand on attention.

“That’s fine. What are you trying to forget by drinking this much, love?” He asks, and I find it even more difficult to answer with the way he just called me love.

“If I tell you, would you tell me why you’re doing the same? When he doesn’t say anything, I continue. “You can’t deny what I said because I see the same emptiness coursing through me in your eyes.”

He holds my eyes quietly as we continue to dance to the flow song.

Now that my brain has stopped overheating for two seconds, I finally realize where I know him from.

Orison has shown me images of him a couple of times, but he has talked about this man more times than he has talked about bathing.

It’s his boss!

This man…is Orison’s boss. Mr Horace is all he calls him, but the face clicks now.

Orison adores and reveres him, talking about how Mr Horace is exactly what he aspires to be in ten years.

“Hey, come back to me, love,” he says gently, tilting my head to stare up at him with a finger under my chin.

Something overcomes me instantly. A courage I’ve never had until now, and I can’t tell why, but I don’t need to.

I slowly lean on my toes and seal my lips over his.

The second he gives in, returning my kiss, goosebumps spread over every inch of my skin, both clothed and uncovered.

I pull back as quickly as I initiated the kiss, and I can see how much he disapproves. He almost chases my lips, but he holds himself back.

I speak before he can.

“Take me somewhere…let’s make each other forget.”